Damn Those English Roses
by ILuvBoysInDresses
Summary: In the world, one word can have several meanings, but in the England, one key can open many doors... Arthur finds this out the hard way, with a little help from an idiot. Rated M for the some "awkward" moments and the powers of the human mind
1. Chapter 1: Key

**Damn Those English Roses**

Chapter 1: Key

* * *

The touch was soft beneath his hand, as it slid languidly across the pale and crimson purity. England reveled in the fact that this feeling was all his own. Faint pressure and warm breath played against the smooth flesh while tender, slight kisses were planted at perfect random. He sighe din sheer contentment, then lifted the watering can to his precious English roses.

"Morning, luvs." England smiled gracefully at the brilliant flowers as he gently showered them.

They were the most beautiful roses in the entire U.K. and England took an emmense amount of pride in them, watering them everyday he could and asking the faeries to treat them well anytime he was absent. One of the younger faeries, a pixie known as Demeter, had grown to love England's roses and, by combining, he powers of magic with his, had quite a postive effect on the blooms.

As England finished with the section to which he had been tending, Demeter skipped atop the breezes to his side. She beamed at him and he returned it cheerfully. Her gaze then drifted to the brilliance before them. She scooped up a handful of dew from a crimson rose and promptly took an ecsatic sip, squinting her eyes in excitment.

"Delicious, Athur!" She whirled around to face him and fluttered up to lay a peck on the tip of his nose.

England blushed at her sweet affection. He hadn't recieved much kindness from anyone, excepting Pity himself, since America claimed independence, and to have such a fond smile directed at him again brought joy to his heart. "Thank you. I'm very glad you enjoy it."

The pixie nodded enthusiasticly, silver wringlets bobbing in the tie of her ponytail with the motion. Her cupped hands extended quickly to England's lips. "Would you care for some?"

He chuckled and raised his index finger to her offer and nuged it away calmly. " No, thank you. I'm about to have my tea and I'd hate to spoil my appetite. Not to mention, I don't want to steal any from you if love it so. But please, if you wish, feel free to share it with the others."

"I might." Her petite face guised with mock-villany. "Then again I might not. Muah-hahahahaa!"

"D-Demeter," England twitched out at the frightening smile that was held on the pixie's features, "that-that evil thing... Yeah, I'm going to have to ask that you not do that, seeing as it kind of freaks me out a little."

He could almost hear the blinking of her round, lime eyes before she let out a hearty laugh. "Sorry, Arthur. I just can't get over the taste."

"Well, there I cannot blame you. They are, after all, the best roses." England willed his pride not to show, knowing it would be ungentlemanly. "Thanks mostly to you, of course."

It was Demeter's turn to be flattered by her friend. A complementing rouge found its way across her porcelain cheeks bringing attention to the adorable beauty mark below her left eye, reddening the tips of her pointed ears as she cutely fidgeted.

"Your magic is more helpful and prominent than mine. I don't do much at all," she muttered flusteredly, looking down.

England set a finger on Demeter's shoulder lightly, coaxing her to look up at him. "With as much as I'm away at meetings, fixing America's problems," he remarked offhandedly, causing Demeter to crack a small grin, "I barely get to cast a good charm on them. It's you how actually keeps them so lovely."

"Alright, that's enough flirting," Demeter chidded.

"I wasn't flirting with you," England snapped.

Demeter looked at him expectantly. "Am I meaning myself?"

England opened his mouth to question her tiny amount of sanity when it registered in his mind that he had mention someone else. And then, "YOU LITTLE-"

"Off to you tea, now," she swiftly interrupted. "Bye, Arthur!" And with that she sped of on her leaf-like wings.

* * *

"Faeries!" England growled. "Bloody little backstabbers, the lot of them, always mischevious with their noses in everything. They always know what they shouldn't-" He could not believe he was admitting it. "Always- right..." No! He was sure there was nothing to admit, just stupid mind-game magic. "Troublemakers, they are," he hissed, "And what's worse is- Oh, you've got to be bloody kidding me..."

He had paused in his walk to the gazeebo to stare at a rather strange occurrence. Or, perhaps, strange wasn't the word, this leant more toward ironic.

Amongst all the roses, a deffect seemed to have been born into one rather large blossom and it was colored a stark navy blue. Surrounding it were several rows of red and white roses branching out to its right in stripes.

Yes, the perfect term was definetly ironic.

"Ah, sod it!" He shook his head madly. "The bloody thing probably has a disease." He looked about himself stamping his foot in annoyance "I don't have any pruning scissors! Oh, it doesn't matter, pain or no, it will NOT be poisoning my roses!"

Full ready for the thorns, England wrentched his hand forward only to find this flower had none. Out of curiosity, he plucked it from the bush and as he allowed his fingers to make contact with the petals, he felt the tingle of magic over take him and he was ripped from his spot to lord only knew where...

'Bugger.'

* * *

A/N: will fix errors later. Hope you liked it!


	2. Chapter 2: Idiot

"Ah, st-stop! Please! You're hurting-!" The Englishman cried under the offender's weight.

The man on top merely sneered, "You brought this on yourself, Arty."

"Please, Ameri- AH!" he faltered as the pressure above him shifted roughly. "For the love of the Queen, get off of me!"

"I don't love your damn Queen," the other huffed, impatient, "but if you'd just give me a sec-!" He gave another harsh jolt.

The smaller shrieked, his thick eyebrows drawn together in pain. "OW! STOP IT! STOP IT! STOP IT!" In desperation, his nails dug into the muscular back.

"Hey! Watch it!" the bespectacled blond growled, "Just relax, would you?"

"No! This hurts!" was his hissed reply.

"I'm not trying to hurt you!"the younger ground out. "But, for God's sake, take it like a man! It can't be the worst you've had!"

"Well, no…," he admitted reluctantly, before bouncing back with fire. "But that doesn't make it any less painful! Now, MOVE!"

"That's what I've been_ trying_ to do, if you'd just help out here!" The strain of the struggle was finally becoming evident in his voice.

"Then unhook your bloody leg," England demanded.

Though the former-colony looked displeased at the idea of obeying, his weakening body convinced him that he should, if only this once. Upon moving his legs as he was told, he released a relieved sigh. "That is so much better."

"Oh, how lovely for you, America," the elder muttered darkly.

"Don't you dare get pissy with me!" America retorted, rising to his feet and straightening his glasses. "All that was your fault!"

"Pardon me?" the bleach blond asked, pulling himself to a seated position in the middle of the dirt path.

"Uhm, yeah!" the boy next to him huffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "That wouldn't've happened if you hadn't fallen in front me!"

"Oh, I see," the older man cooed condescendingly, "of course it was all my fault, America. There's no way it could've been caused by _someone's _inability to BLOODY STOP!"

"Sorry if stopping isn't my strong point." The youth shrugged. "I don't jog too much."

"I can tell," England mused.

"Hey!" America yelped. "Why do you always have to be so mean?"

"Oh, come now. You know, I'm not so much mean as I am brutally honest," the seated male remarked, dusting of his sweater-vest. "Would you be a dear and help me up?"

"Yeah, sure." He half-extended his hand before tugging it back. "Wait- No! Not after you were mean like that!"

"But," the elder faked a sniffle, massaging one his arms tenderly, "I'm injured. How un-heroic of you."

"I hate you," the hero murmured, jaw set, blue eyes flickering dangerously.

"I know," the gentleman smiled, accepting the hand offered to him. "Isn't it just lovely when the feeling's mutual?"

The wind rustled through the surrounding trees as the local birds sang out their lilting songs. All manner of colorful kites soared through the cloudless sky while their owners' laughter chimed in the distance. The soft summer sun bathed the park in gentle warmth, lacing the land with an undeniable joy. Then, there was America and England, carrying out a tense silence, partially-facing each other yet looking anywhere but, and almost visibly dimming the splendorous glow of the world.

After several moments of spoiling the day's radiance, America spoke up. "How'd you even get here?"

"Magic accident," England replied simply, eyes averted, scanning over the grass.

"Oh," the younger didn't know much about such things, but England had been able to pull of some pretty surprising tricks, so he didn't doubt it. "So-"

The other cut him off as he screamed, "There you are you bloody git!" and charged over to a strange blue rose laying not thirty feet away. "To be exact, this is the accident that brought me here. It's some rogue portkey or the like."

The older man scarcely finished his statement, before the boy barreled towards him. "IT KILLED CEDRIC!"

"ALFRED F. JONES!" The sound England's seething voice scraping over America's human name snapped him out of his rage, not that the same could be said for England. "What do you think you are doing?"

The youth looked away sheepishly. "Well, you said 'portkey' and that's what got Cedric Diggory killed, so I got a little…" He nervously kicked at dirt clod by his sneakers.

The other blond sighed. "I understand the sentiment, but this isn't the same one from Harry-," he perked up, "Have you actually read the Harry Potter books?"

"Uh, I saw the movies," the teen offered.

England's happiness deflated. "Right… Anyway, I'd best be going." He delicately picked up the flower by its stem, staring at the petals with a mix of anger and anxiety as his fingers inched towards the navy blossom.

"Hey, England," America grabbed his arm just before he could make contact with the petals, "while you're here I wanted to ask…," he took a step closer so he could whisper in England's ear, "Would you come to my birthday? Please."

The older man's face shot bright red at the idiot's idea of persuasive, but he kept his face forward and his voice even. "Goodbye." And with that, he wrapped his hand around the bloom.

"Ooh, tingly," someone giggled behind him and his gaze darted down to the plant then up to the smiling face of the other one holding it.

"What are you doing?" England yelled, "Let go!"

America smirked at him. "Punishment," he stated as if it were pure fact. "You don't come to my birthday, I go on your magical adventure."

"Why you sack of shi-!"

Then the magic overtook them.

* * *

A/N: Happy (oce again, slighty-belated) America Day!

Sorry it took so long, this is the story I have the least planned for, but don't worry the plot starts up next chapter, whenever that may be.

I hope you liked it anyway!


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